Blackridge's nightlife pulsed like a living artery—neon lights, predatory eyes, music that thumped like a heartbeat trying to outrun death.
Dante led Sera through it without a word, weaving through crowds with the silent confidence of someone who didn't need to look over his shoulder.
Sera kept pace, though every step tightened the coil in her stomach. She had known she'd end up facing Lucien again… but not this soon.
Not by his invitation.
The building they stopped at was impossible to miss.
A nightclub marked by a glowing crimson sigil—
a stylized crow with spread wings.
THE AVIARY.
People waited in long lines outside, but Dante walked straight past the velvet rope. The bouncers didn't question him. Their eyes flicked briefly to Sera, assessing, curious—but they stepped aside.
The moment Sera crossed the threshold, the world changed.
Bass vibrated through the floor.
Lights shifted in flashes of scarlet, violet, ink-black shadow.
Bodies moved in rhythm, sweat and perfume mixing into the air.
Everything felt alive.
Everything felt hungry.
Dante leaned toward her. "Stay close."
She didn't intend to wander.
The Aviary wasn't just a nightclub—it was a fortress disguised as temptation. Sera felt dozens of eyes tracking her, men and women stationed strategically, some dancing, others watching the crowd with a predator's attention.
The Crows.
Lucien's people.
And she was walking right into their nest.
Dante guided her through the main floor, toward a roped-off staircase guarded by two armed men. They nodded to Dante, then their eyes slid to her.
One smirked.
"New recruit?"
Dante's voice didn't shift. "Special guest."
That shut the man up instantly.
Special guest.
That could mean anything in this underworld.
They moved upstairs, where the music dimmed and the darkness felt deeper—less chaotic, more controlled. Velvet-lined halls swallowed sound. Everything here was expensive, intentional, dangerous.
At the end of the hallway stood a set of obsidian double doors.
Dante stopped.
His expression softened for the first time—just slightly.
"Don't lie to him," he said quietly.
Sera met his gaze. "I wasn't planning to."
He exhaled, as if relieved, then knocked twice and pushed the doors open.
The room beyond was dim, lit by low amber lamps. Glass walls revealed the nightclub below, a sea of shadows and light. But the center of the room drew Sera's eyes immediately.
Lucien sat on a black leather lounge chair, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of dark liquor in his hand. His coat was discarded on the armrest. The light caught the sharp angles of his face, the glint of his dark eyes.
He didn't look surprised to see her.
He looked like he'd been waiting.
Dante bowed his head. "Boss."
Lucien didn't take his eyes off Sera. "Leave us."
Dante hesitated for a fraction of a second—so small anyone else would've missed it—but then he gave Sera a brief, unreadable look and slipped out, closing the doors behind him.
Silence.
Just Sera.
And the most dangerous man in Blackridge.
Lucien set his drink down. "You did your research."
Sera steadied her breath. "You called me. You must want something."
He tilted his head, studying her with that unsettling calm. "Most people avoid me. You seek me out. Even after I warned you."
"Because you have answers."
Lucien stood slowly, every movement deliberate, controlled. He walked toward her with unhurried steps, stopping just a few feet away.
"Maybe," he murmured. "But I want to see something first."
Sera swallowed. "See what?"
"How far you're willing to go."
Her hands clenched, but her voice stayed steady. "I'll do anything to find out who killed Liam."
Lucien's gaze sharpened slightly. "That name again."
He stepped closer, close enough she could smell whiskey and smoke—
and something colder beneath it.
"What was he to you?"
Sera's chest tightened so sharply it hurt. "My boyfriend."
Lucien's expression shifted—barely—but she saw it.
A flicker. A calculation adjusting.
"And you think the Red Fangs killed him," he said.
She nodded. "I know they did."
Lucien's lips curved—slowly, darkly.
"You don't know anything."
The floor seemed to drop beneath her.
"What does that mean?" she demanded.
Lucien's eyes met hers, and she felt as if he was peeling back layers she didn't know she had.
"It means," he said quietly, "that you're chasing the wrong monster."
Sera's pulse pounded painfully.
"Then tell me who—"
Lucien cut her off by lifting a hand.
"Before I give you answers," he murmured, "you need to understand the stakes."
He walked past her to the glass overlooking the club.
"Down there are over three hundred people. Partiers. Dealers. Informants. Killers." He looked over his shoulder at her. "You think you can handle the truth about what happened in that alley?"
"Yes," she said instantly.
Lucien smiled—a dangerous, almost pitying curve of his lips.
"Then you're more naïve than I thought."
Sera's jaw clenched. "I'm not naïve."
Lucien turned fully toward her, the shadows shifting across his face.
"No," he agreed softly. "You're just angry. Grief masquerading as courage."
Her breath caught. The words hit too close.
Lucien approached until he stood directly in front of her, his presence overwhelming.
"If you want my help," he said, voice low, "you'll work for it. You'll listen. You'll obey. And you won't run when you see how deep this city's darkness goes."
His gaze swept over her face, unreadable.
"Do you still want the truth, Sera Blackwell?"
The room seemed to hold its breath.
Sera's heartbeat thundered.
She knew this moment was a choice—
a line she couldn't uncross.
And she stepped over it without hesitation.
"Yes."
Lucien's smile was slow, dark, and final—
the smile of a man who had just claimed something.
"Good," he said.
"Then your training begins tonight."
The lights dimmed further.
The door clicked locked from the outside.
And Sera realized she wasn't a guest.
She was an initiate.